Page 72 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
‘Are you tired?’ she asked him, trying to elicit some idea of what was really going on.
‘No,’ he said. Then he sat in the back seat of the car and hyperventilated as he looked out the window at the school building. The breathing was new.
‘Why don’t you want to go to school, Charlie?’ she prodded gently.
‘I want to be asleep!’
He looked as though he was trying not to cry, and that meant she had to try not to cry, because while parents are meant to be strong for their children she has always wanted to cry when he does, which feels more like the natural order of things than not crying.
‘Is something going on at school?’ she tried again.
His eyes were so big and sad as they looked into hers. ‘I don’t like the teacher,’ he said.
This has come up before, and Elizabeth thinks it’s because Charlie finds the schoolwork difficult, because when she had a meeting with the teacher in the middle of the year he seemed friendly and relaxed and quite happy with Charlie.
‘I can’t take you home, darling, I’m sorry,’ she said.
Although she could probably take him to her parents’ – she just doesn’t want him to think that’s an option, and won’t use it unless she absolutely has to.
‘Why not?’ He sniffed.
‘Because I have to work.’
‘Stupid work!’ He kicked the back of the passenger seat.
Elizabeth knew she should say something but she understood the sentiment: to him the work is stupid because it means he can’t do what he wants.
‘Come on, darling. I’m sure it will be fine once you’re in there.’
She wasn’t sure, obviously – no parent knows what their child goes through once they’re inside the school gates. The tortures could all be inside the child’s head as they try to navigate other children and difficult subjects and the politics of the playground. Elizabeth remembers it well and has always said she’s glad she never has to go back to school – yet there she was, waiting outside her son’s school, trying to force him to go inside.
After a few more minutes of stand-off Charlie went in, and she wasn’t too late for work. Olive didn’t even seem to notice because she was chatting on the phone, quite animatedly, and Doctor Lopes hadn’t arrived yet.
There was patient after patient – Doctor Simpson is in today too, so they had a full house. Elizabeth has enjoyed the flurry, barely having time for a cup of tea let alone a word with Olive, who is always in her element when it’s busy. Elizabeth has no idea what time it is when her stomach starts gurgling, but she hopes it’s close to twelve thirty, which is when she’s able to take a break.
‘Hello, Lizzie,’ says a voice from above and Elizabeth whips her head up to see Shirl beaming down at her.
‘Shirl!’ She stands up. It feels appropriate. Partly because Shirl isn’t wearing a T-shirt and shorts – she’s in quite a nice pink cotton dress.
‘Olive.’ Shirl nods at Olive and winks.
‘You two know each other?’ Olive says.
‘Lizzie’s in the Sunshine Gardening Society,’ Shirl says, beaming like a proud parent. ‘You know, Ol, that thing I tried to get you to join years ago and you told me you didn’t want to ruin your nails.’
Olive looks at her perfectly lacquered red fingertips. ‘Correct. I don’t.’ She turns towards Elizabeth. ‘You haven’t said anything about this society.’
Elizabeth feels nervous, like she’s done the wrong thing by becoming a Sunshine Gardener. ‘It’s on weekends. It doesn’t affect work.’
‘I didn’t think it would.’ Olive looks at her as if she’s odd. ‘Silly girl, I just meant I like toknowwhat’s going on. You know I like a gossip! And if you’d mentioned it earlier I would have told you I know Shirl. We had our kids around the same time, didn’t we, Shirl?’
Shirl has children? She’s never said. Although there’s probably been no reason to.
‘Lost our husbands around the same time too,’ Olive goes on. ‘Although she kicked hers out.’ Olive winks and Elizabeth takes that as approval of Shirl’s action.
‘No-good bum.’ Shirl purses her lips. ‘Him and the sheila he was dealing with. Anyway, how you been, Ol?’
‘Good. Won fifty on number two in the fifth last weekend.’
